Kinda got in a funk, starting writing some smut, which isn't my usual thing, and it got kinda long and surprisingly detailed. Nothing hardcore, really just self indulgent, but the type of thing that would be appreciated here.
Has multiples pregnancy, stuffing, belly expansion, belly worship, some sub/dom subthemes, and what could probably be constituted as foodplay.
Enjoy!
It took hours. Hours and hours of cooking, a whole afternoon spent preparing a feasts worth of food, not to mention the cleanup I had afterwards. But it was worth it. After all, this was all for me, though I wasn't the one eating the food. My wife, who sat beside the table laden with the buffet I had prepared, was 39 and a half weeks hugely pregnant with triplets. Her belly rested on her lap, reaching about two thirds of the way to her knees. She wore a pair of maternity jeans, and one of her pre-pregnancy shirts that only covered about seventy percent of her belly, at my request.
She rested her hands on top of her shelf of a belly and smiled at me. She had promised that right before her due date, I would get the pleasure of plumping her up with as much food as she could eat in a day, and much to my joy, the day had finally come. I watched a few subtle ripples move across her skin as her babies shifted around. A few light stretchmarks ran down the wide crescent of bare belly under the hem of her shirt. “What do you want first?” I asked. She glanced to the table full of food to her left, furrowing her brow as she surveyed the feast. “I'm thinking something Italian to start!” she said. I obliged by reaching across the table and grabbing the heaping bowl of chicken alfredo. She took it from me and rested the bowl on the top of her huge pregnant belly. Grabbing a fork and a spoon, she went to town, downing the entire thing in a matter of minutes. That alone should have been enough food for about four people, but considering she was eating for four, I wasn't terribly surprised she finished it. What did surprise me was her vigor for more. I had assumed we'd have to take it slow and go a few plates at a time, with long digestion breaks between each one, but my wife was ready for another serving. “What next?” she asked. “You should get to pick one now!” she grinned, before licking the alfredo sauce off of her lips. I had a large tub of goulash I had made up, which was one I thought would take two sessions to finish, I decided to play with her, and see how much she could finish after that last bowl. “To continue the Italian theme!” I said, grabbing a stool. The pot of goulash was tall and heavy, so I used the stool to set it in front of her, and handed her a big spoon. She scooted the stool closer, spreading her legs to give it more space to get near, the side of the pot brushing against her outie belly button. She leaned forward slightly and dug in, savoring every spoonful. I was impressed, she had hardly slowed from the last dish. I heard the phone ring and rolled my eyes, getting up to go answer it. After hanging up on a rather pushy telemarketer, I went back to the dining room, expecting to see my wife had given up about half way and had taken a break. I was shocked to see she was still eating! Not only that, she had almost finished the whole pot! She scooped up the last few noodles and chunks of meat, surely she had to feel absolutely stuffed by now, right? “That was really good!” she smiled, somewhat breathlessly. She leaned back, and her belly knocked the pot off of the stool. “Oops!” she smiled playfully. Her belly looked almost bigger than when we had started. Her shirt had ridden up slightly more, and it seemed to stick out a bit farther, hence knocking over the pot. She gave it a hearty pat, and asked for more. I couldn't believe it. I asked her if she needed to stop, and assured her that we had all day, and that I didn't want her to be sick. She smiled and said she felt fine, assuring me that she was enjoying all of this, and would tell me if she started not feeling well. “Besides, feel it! There's still plenty of room in there!” she rubbed tiny circles on the side of her belly. I did as she asked, placing my hand on her pale, overstretched belly. It was very VERY firm, as it had been the entire pregnancy. She swore up and down that she had room for more, so I asked her what she wanted. “I'm craving something... Asian!” she glanced over at the full wok of stir fry I had cooked up. I knew that one was gonna go quickly. “How much?” I asked, actually opting to dish this one up, partly because the wok would be awkward to eat out of, partly because I wanted to see how much more she wanted to push herself. “All of it,” she grinned hungrily. I was in pure awe, and did as I was told. A huge plate stacked high with stir fry balanced on my wife's huge belly, wobbling as its payload kicked a few times. She took a fork and began to down mouthful after mouthful of the Asian food. She had been craving stir fry the entire pregnancy, so I had it down to a science, though this was easily the biggest plate of it I had ever seen her attempt to finish. I just sat back and watched, her eating speed never slowing. I looked down to see her belly actually looking even bigger. She was eating so much she was physically growing by the inch. Her shirt rode up higher and higher, until the hem got caught on her belly button. “Mmm, honey...” she said between mouthfuls. I tore my eyes off of her belly, only to have her point down at it again. “I can feel something tugging my belly button, could you fix it?” she asked. I grinned and nodded, taking the now empty plate off of her belly, then going back to roll up her shirt. Her enormous bare pregnant belly sat in her lap, growing closer and closer to her knees, and bowing out on the sides to be wider than the rest of her. I could see some new stretchmarks forming, and the old ones looking brighter. She smiled at me. “I'm ready for another dish,” she said, “But I might need a belly rub to help get me through it,” she took my hands and placed them at the taught end of her belly, which was somehow more firm now than it had been before. She reached over and grabbed a rack of ribs I had made for her, peeling off one rib and setting the rest on the table for easy access. “You know how messy I can get with barbecue, if anything lands on my belly down there, it's yours,” she teased before tearing into the rib in her hand. Truth be told, while it did LOOK messy, she consumed every morsel. I kept rubbing her tummy, running my hands over the top and down the side. I pulled them down to the underside and gave her underbelly some attention. It was so taught, warm, and heavy, I can only imagine what it felt like to actually HAVE and be a part of. My wife is so amazing. This went on for a little while, she took her time getting every scrap of meat and BBQ sauce off of the bone. I was engrossed in caressing her belly, as she kept eating, I swear I could FEEL it expanding, the skin getting tighter and tighter under my hand. I noticed a couple of drops of something land on the front dome of her belly, and I looked up to see some dribbles of barbecue sauce had landed a few inches above her belly button. “Oops?” she grinned mischievously. “You better lick it off,” God she knew how to get to me. I followed orders, licking the few running drops of warm barbecue sauce off of her belly. She giggled, which caused her belly to jiggle slightly, before she went back to her meal. I kissed her belly where the spill had been, over and over pressing my lips into her drum tight tummy. I massaged the sides thoroughly, rubbing my hands back and forth and pressing slightly. For as full and tight as it was, her belly still had the slightest bit of give. “Hey, master chef,” she yanked me from my stupor with that lovely voice of hers. I glanced up to see no ribs in her hands, which had been licked clean of sauce. “I'm still hungry,” I stood up, feeling the deep blush burning on my face. “What would you like next?” I asked. “Hmm...” she playfully surveyed the table, which was still roughly two thirds covered in food. “I like the look of that ham...” she pointed at the full sized thanksgiving dinner-esque ham that sat at the end. “But, my pants are getting pretty tight. Mind helping me unbutton them?” she smiled at me. Could she even stand up at this point? The waistline of her pants was pretty low, and the button and zipper were buried under a mound of pregnant girth. I took her hands and helped her up, she was definitely heavier, which I didn't mind. Her maternity jeans honestly looked like skinny jeans at this point, the denim almost cutting into her skin. I undid the button and zipper, and my wife let out a long sigh. “Much better. In fact? Maybe just pull them off,” she wiggled a bit and let them fall to her ankles, showing off her long legs. Her thighs were delightfully plump, her panties hugged them gently, being much more forgiving than the denim pants. Cellulite ran down their backs, which didn't bother me in the slightest. Her legs were long and soft, though had some muscle hidden beneath the fat. She stepped out of the jeans, which now lay in a pile on her bare feet, and kicked them into the corner of the room, before sitting heavily back down into her chair. “Now, about that ham...” she need not say anymore. “How much do you want?” I asked. She eyed the warm, juicy ham with a sly smile. “I'll take... all of it,” This woman was ready to go big or go home. This was an entire thanksgiving ham she was gunning for. “Are you sure!?” she nodded, patting her now even more distended belly. “Still got some space,” I spent a few minutes getting every bit of ham I could, and piling it onto one platter. This thing was piled high, and could probably sustain a normal person for almost a week. I set it on the table next to her, and grabber her a fork. “You know what would go good with this?” she asked. I shrugged and smiled quizzically. “Some mac and cheese!” I hadn't made any, but we did have some. “You start on this, I'll go make you some!” I ran off to the kitchen, got some water boiling, and made up a double batch. Boiling the water, cooking the pasta, and mixing in the butter, milk, and cheese power took about 20 minutes. When I came back, the ham was about 30% down. “Getting full?” I asked. “You should have that plate licked clean with the pace you've been at,” she shook her head and smiled softly. “I just took my time, didn't want you missing the show,” she smirked. “Now gimmie!” she reached for the pot of still hot mac and cheese. I handed it to her and to my surprise, rather than use any proper silverware, she started eating it with the wooden spoon I had used to stir, and had left in by accident. “Mmm, I like this, really good. But...” she smiled at me. “My poor belly is feeling really big and stretched out. I'm still plenty hungry, but my skin is getting so tight, just look at it!” she gestured to the end and sides of her belly. The whole thing, lower hemisphere especially, was covered in stretchmarks, about half of which weren't there this morning. “My tummy could use some encouragement as I keep filling it up,” she pouted. “How about you kiss every last one of my stretchmarks, so that they know you love them, and so my belly knows it's okay to keep getting bigger and fatter,” without a word, I sunk to me knees, my face level with the end of my wife's truly enormous belly. I shifted over to the left side and pressed my lips to the first stretchmark I saw, right near her love handles. She cooed, and went back to eating, alternating between slice of ham and spoonful of mac and cheese. She shoved down mouthful after mouthful, never slowing, nor showing signs of fatigue. Her belly continued to grow and expand. The end had actually reached her knees, and was starting to push farther out. The sides had pressed out father, making it completely obvious how pregnant she was, even from the back. I was just getting across to the right hemisphere of her belly when she stopped me. “Ah, ah, my belly button deserves some attention too. After all, the poor thing used to be an innie, now look at it,” Again, without question, I started kissing and worshiping her belly button, which stuck out a good half inch, totally popped. “Make sure to get all of my linea nigra line too. That one is queen of the stretchmarks,” she stated matter of factly with a mouthful of ham and cheese. With my hands softly holding and squeezing the sides of her growing pregnant tummy, I lay several tender kisses up and down the center axis of her globe of pregnancy. I went up, to where her shirt rested, bunched up under to breasts, and down, to as low onto her underbelly as I could get. “Very good, now you can continue,” she smiled. The ham was almost gone from what I could tell, and I imagine the mac and cheese couldn't be far behind. She had eaten so, so much food, and had nearly doubled in size, and let still kept going. I continued around her belly, caressing and pampering each individual mark as if they were their own portion of her beauty, which as far as I was concerned, they were. Eventually I had reached her right side, stopping right about where her love handles flowed out over the waistline of her panties. “Good ham!” she said, letting out an impressive belch. “I feel like starting on dessert, what do you have that's sweet?” she asked. I had the foresight to prepare a myriad of rich, sweet, chocolate dessert items that I knew she'd like. A triple layer chocolate cake, a huge bowl of heavy chocolate pudding, and while it wasn't Christmas, a yule log made extra heavy with a thick coating of dark chocolate glaze. She eyed the yule log first. “Pass the log and hand me a fork!” she grinned, rubbing the top of her enormous belly with both hands. I handed her the platter with the heavy yule log sitting atop it, and she balanced it on her belly, which had only widened since her feast began. She took her fork and tore huge chunks out of the confection, stuffing down every bite. I just watched in awe as every last bit of that super heavy, fattening dessert disappeared into her growing belly. She set the now empty platter back on the table and leaned back in her chair, her tummy now starting to grow a bit on the top too. “What should I eat next?” she asked me innocently. “Uh... up for some pudding?” I offered. She smiled a sly, mischievous smile. “I'm up for everything on this table,” she replied. I beamed, handing her the huge bowl containing a triple batch of chocolate pudding. “That yule log was impressively rich, I could use more belly rubs to help it all digest as I dig into this pudding,” she said, half teasing me, half ordering me. I began running my hands over her taught skin again, eliciting a mix of content, happy sounds from my wife. Her midriff had simply exploded from how it had started earlier. It was now overhanging her knees by several inches, the sides sticking out a great deal from the rest of her frame, and the whole thing becoming almost shiny as she continued to push her poor belly skin past its limits. A glob of pudding landed on the top of her belly, having 'dripped' from her loaded spoon. “Oops, sorry sweetie. You know how clumsy I can get when I'm THIS pregnant,” she grinned. “You should probably lick that off too. You're putting in a lot of work pampering me, and I want to make sure you're well fed,” she smirked at the irony. “Well, maybe not as well fed as ME!” she slapped her belly with the spoon, leaving more pudding for me to 'clean up'. “...but you get the idea,” I wrapped my arms as far around her belly as I could. My hands were both barely reaching the small of her back, but the tips of my fingers couldn't meet. She was so big around I couldn't hold all of her. I lapped up the pudding stains from the top of her belly, punctuating each cleaned spot with a soft kiss. I could still feel some movement from her triplets inside of her, which I imagine were feeling almost cramped in there with all of that food. My wife simply kept downing mouthful after mouthful of pudding, stopping to lick her lips every so often. “Mmmm. I feel so big and fat and pregnant. I must look gargantuan by now!” she teased, setting the cleaned bowl off to the side. “and yet, with this huge belly taking up all of this space, I'm still hungry, and I think I know what I want next...” she looked over at a deep pan of lasagna that had gone untouched this whole time. “I've had enough sweet stuff for now, pass me that lasagna!” I walked around the table to grab it from the end. Even though it felt like we had been at this for a while now, it still felt pretty warm. “You want any?” she offered. I shook my head with a smile. She grinned back at me, “Well good, cause these babies have driven my appetite into overdrive, and I don't want to share any of this!” she grabbed a large spoon and started inhaling the Italian dinner, again using her belly as a table. Her tummy just kept expanding further and further, her belly button somehow looking more popped than before. Her belly had a pattern of bright red stretchmarks, spanning the entire thing. The skin around her belly button had begun to take on a slightly darker hue, has her linea nigra line grew wider and darker. Without asking, I rubbed the ends of my fingers along the sides of her belly. She glanced down at me. “Did I give you permission to touch?” she scolded. I withdrew my hands and she laughed. “Not that I mind, of course. But you really should ask before rubbing a pregnant woman's belly. Besides, I have something you could be doing while you're massaging me down there...” she trailed off, setting the now empty lasagna pan off to the side. She looked at me with a mock pout on her face. “I'm feeling too big and heavy to get up. I'm just far too pregnant to move on my own. This big belly gets in the way!” I stood up, took her by the hands, and hefted her onto her bare feet. She really was very, very heavy. So much so that she had to hold and support her tummy with both hands. She very, very slowly waddled over to the recliner, and sat down, sinking into the cushion. She put up the foot rest, and leaned back at about 45 degrees. “Here's what I want you to do,” she began. “Go grab those two large pizzas you made, bring them here, and massage my underbelly while I eat. I'm too big and fat to reach down there anymore,” she instructed. I grabbed the food she requested, setting it within arms reach, then crouched down by her side and started running my hands along her firm, warm underbelly. It had only the slightest bit of give, and was laden with stretchmarks, as it had to bear the weight of so much food and pregnancy. She let out more small noises of approval as I worked my way across the hidden expanse of pregnant tummy. “My belly is complaining again, better go for another round of stretchmark kisses,” she ordered. “Make sure to get all of the ones down there too. Just cause I'm too big to see them doesn't mean I don't know they're there. You know what I expect,” I could hear the smile in her voice, though I couldn't see it passed her massive belly. I started dead center on the bottom of her belly, lovingly peppering it with light kisses on every red mark I saw. She leaned back farther to make it easier on me, but kept chowing down on that pizza. I had my hands running along the drum tight sides of her tummy as I kept kissing it, over and over. I ran my tongue from the base of her belly all the way up to her belly button, slowly moving up her linea nigra line. “Mmmm... very good. I like that!” she praised, her voice sultry, even when muffled with food. I planted a deep kiss onto the end of her belly, giving her belly button a good 40 seconds of attention, before splitting off to hit more of her stretchmarks. I was in such heaven. My wife proceeded to let out an impressively loud belch, then laughed a deep belly laugh, causing her pregnant dome to undulate up and down. “Mmmmmm, pizza's gone. What all is left?” she asked. I glanced over, and took inventory. “Looks like... a huge platter of nachos, two stacks of buttermilk pancakes, a dozen each, and that triple layer chocolate cake!” I said, glancing to her. “Which would you like?” I asked. She grinned at me, smiling that same smile she used when she was about to say something that would make me go crazy. “You know... I can't tell... why don't you listen to my belly, and tell me what you think it wants?” I felt my cheeks burn with a deep blush, I smiled and nodded, shifting over and putting my ear onto my wife's enormous middle. I could hear the distinct sound of three heartbeats, and the churning and sloshing of an overstuffed, overworked stomach. I listened for a while, partly to enjoy the sounds, mostly to keep my face right on the side of her bare belly. “Hmmm...” I teased, pretending to put thought into the decision when I knew right away what I wanted her to eat next. “I think it's telling me its wants the nachos,” I smile, patting it softly. She nodded and I got up to go get them for her. I brought them back, and she had sat up in the recliner. I handed her the large platter, which she set on her belly, and she starting mowing through the chips, meat, salsa, and peppers that made up the treat. She had about a quarter down when she made a request. “All this salt is making me thirsty. You have something to drink?” I nodded and went to the fridge to see what we had. That was a lot of nachos, so she'd need a lot of liquid. I dug around in the fridge for a minute or two and found an unopened gallon container of lemonade. Citrus with wanna-be Mexican food? Good combo? Good enough? It was all we really had, so I grabbed a tall glass with it and brought it back with me. “Hey honey how much do you wa...” I trailed off. The nachos were completely gone, not a scrap left. She chewed and swallowed the last bite, and reached for the jug in my hand. “Mmm... whole thing. Don't bother pouring,” she demanded. I passed her the container and she tore off the lid and began chugging. My eyes were wide and my jaw was completely slack. She downed the whole thing, the WHOLE THING, without so much as stopping to breathe. She tossed the empty plastic gallon jug to the side and inhaled deeply. She smiled a sweet, innocent smile at me, and placed her hands on either side of her truly enormous pregnant belly. She jostled it, shaking it left to right slightly. “I can feel everything sloshing around in my belly. Come have a listen?” she offered. Not one to pass great opportunities, I knelt down next to her again and placed my ear a few inches above her distended belly button. Sure enough, the sound of lapping liquid echoed from inside of her. Her skin overstretched and containing an outrageous amount of food. “Pancakes next,” she said sternly, breaking me from my stupor once more. I excitedly made two trips to bring her 24 buttermilk pancakes, each roughly 8 inches in diameter, and a large container of syrup. I set them next to her and she looked up at me with that devilish grin again. “Do we have something that could cover up this recliner, and maybe the surrounding floor?” she asked. “...why?” I asked, genuinely confused. “I have an idea, but it's going to get messy, and I don't want this chair or the carpet ruined,” she explained. I set down the syrup to go find something. After some searching, I found a plastic cover for the chair, and a small tarp for the floor, both of which could easily be taken outside and hosed off after whatever she had planned. “Great, now help me up. Get the tarp under the recliner, and the cover on the chair itself,” she instructed. She had gotten even heavier, and seemed ready to explode from food and pregnancy. She cradled her massive belly while standing off to the side, while I shifted the furniture around. Once everything was in place, she lowered herself back into that recliner, and scooted the plates of pancakes closer to her. I really wasn't ready for what she did next, but it made sense why she wanted the surrounding area covered. She took of her shirt, now wearing only her bra and panties, grabbed six pancakes off of the top of one of the stacks, and set them directly on her belly. She did this with the rest, resulting in four evenly divided stacks. She grabbed the syrup, made eye contact with me, and proceeded to pour it all over the pancakes, and by extension, herself. With her food and belly thoroughly coated in sticky maple syrup. The snatched the fork and started eating right off of her belly. I honestly could only sit there and watch. She downed pancake after pancake, each stack disappearing into her massive belly. As the top shelf of her tummy cleared, the sides continued to grow and fill out further. Still more stretchmarks faded onto the sides. She finished the last pancake, licked her lips, and sat back, letting out a content sigh. “You know you're going to have to lick me clean after this, right?” she said, sultry, but completely serious. I didn't speak, simply nodding. “Good, now get me that cake. It's time to finish this,” I brought it over to her, the tall, rich confection enough to feed 15 people easily. “Y-you want me to-” “Right on the belly,” she pointed to the top of her pregnant dome. I set the cake down where she asked, and she looked up at me with pleading eyes. “I know it's all covered in syrup and chocolate, but my tummy needs some support to make it to the end of this marathon. Think you could bring yourself to worship it one last time?” she pouted. No one knew how to tease me like her. I got down on my knees, running my hands across the firm, sappy sides of her belly, licking the syrup off of her linea negra line where I could. My face was covered in syrup as I kissed each stretchmark one by one all across her belly. I massaged her underbelly where I could, which resulted in more syrup getting on her thighs, but neither of us cared. I kissed her belly button over and over, squeezing the sides of her packed belly. She still, even stuffed to the bursting point with food, had just a little give to her skin. Every so often a kick would make itself known against my hand, prompting me to give that stop extra attention. My wife gave her belly a hearty pat and belched. I looked up to see she had somehow stuffed herself with that entire cake. “Well that was a nice appetizer!” she joked, breathing somewhat heavily as she leaned back. I just kept rubbing her belly, pressing my face into the sticky, sugary end of it, completely in bliss. My wife had somehow seemingly tripled in size, and had eaten a good weeks worth of food in a single day. Her belly dominated her body, taking up her whole lap, stretching far passed her knees, and bowing out on the sides. It was heavily laden with bright red stretchmarks, with a dark, wide linea negra, and a tight, popped belly button. “Hey sweetie, I'm going to take a nap and digest all of this. Why don't you start cleaning me up?” she winked. “I'm full,”
Has multiples pregnancy, stuffing, belly expansion, belly worship, some sub/dom subthemes, and what could probably be constituted as foodplay.
Enjoy!
It took hours. Hours and hours of cooking, a whole afternoon spent preparing a feasts worth of food, not to mention the cleanup I had afterwards. But it was worth it. After all, this was all for me, though I wasn't the one eating the food. My wife, who sat beside the table laden with the buffet I had prepared, was 39 and a half weeks hugely pregnant with triplets. Her belly rested on her lap, reaching about two thirds of the way to her knees. She wore a pair of maternity jeans, and one of her pre-pregnancy shirts that only covered about seventy percent of her belly, at my request.
She rested her hands on top of her shelf of a belly and smiled at me. She had promised that right before her due date, I would get the pleasure of plumping her up with as much food as she could eat in a day, and much to my joy, the day had finally come. I watched a few subtle ripples move across her skin as her babies shifted around. A few light stretchmarks ran down the wide crescent of bare belly under the hem of her shirt. “What do you want first?” I asked. She glanced to the table full of food to her left, furrowing her brow as she surveyed the feast. “I'm thinking something Italian to start!” she said. I obliged by reaching across the table and grabbing the heaping bowl of chicken alfredo. She took it from me and rested the bowl on the top of her huge pregnant belly. Grabbing a fork and a spoon, she went to town, downing the entire thing in a matter of minutes. That alone should have been enough food for about four people, but considering she was eating for four, I wasn't terribly surprised she finished it. What did surprise me was her vigor for more. I had assumed we'd have to take it slow and go a few plates at a time, with long digestion breaks between each one, but my wife was ready for another serving. “What next?” she asked. “You should get to pick one now!” she grinned, before licking the alfredo sauce off of her lips. I had a large tub of goulash I had made up, which was one I thought would take two sessions to finish, I decided to play with her, and see how much she could finish after that last bowl. “To continue the Italian theme!” I said, grabbing a stool. The pot of goulash was tall and heavy, so I used the stool to set it in front of her, and handed her a big spoon. She scooted the stool closer, spreading her legs to give it more space to get near, the side of the pot brushing against her outie belly button. She leaned forward slightly and dug in, savoring every spoonful. I was impressed, she had hardly slowed from the last dish. I heard the phone ring and rolled my eyes, getting up to go answer it. After hanging up on a rather pushy telemarketer, I went back to the dining room, expecting to see my wife had given up about half way and had taken a break. I was shocked to see she was still eating! Not only that, she had almost finished the whole pot! She scooped up the last few noodles and chunks of meat, surely she had to feel absolutely stuffed by now, right? “That was really good!” she smiled, somewhat breathlessly. She leaned back, and her belly knocked the pot off of the stool. “Oops!” she smiled playfully. Her belly looked almost bigger than when we had started. Her shirt had ridden up slightly more, and it seemed to stick out a bit farther, hence knocking over the pot. She gave it a hearty pat, and asked for more. I couldn't believe it. I asked her if she needed to stop, and assured her that we had all day, and that I didn't want her to be sick. She smiled and said she felt fine, assuring me that she was enjoying all of this, and would tell me if she started not feeling well. “Besides, feel it! There's still plenty of room in there!” she rubbed tiny circles on the side of her belly. I did as she asked, placing my hand on her pale, overstretched belly. It was very VERY firm, as it had been the entire pregnancy. She swore up and down that she had room for more, so I asked her what she wanted. “I'm craving something... Asian!” she glanced over at the full wok of stir fry I had cooked up. I knew that one was gonna go quickly. “How much?” I asked, actually opting to dish this one up, partly because the wok would be awkward to eat out of, partly because I wanted to see how much more she wanted to push herself. “All of it,” she grinned hungrily. I was in pure awe, and did as I was told. A huge plate stacked high with stir fry balanced on my wife's huge belly, wobbling as its payload kicked a few times. She took a fork and began to down mouthful after mouthful of the Asian food. She had been craving stir fry the entire pregnancy, so I had it down to a science, though this was easily the biggest plate of it I had ever seen her attempt to finish. I just sat back and watched, her eating speed never slowing. I looked down to see her belly actually looking even bigger. She was eating so much she was physically growing by the inch. Her shirt rode up higher and higher, until the hem got caught on her belly button. “Mmm, honey...” she said between mouthfuls. I tore my eyes off of her belly, only to have her point down at it again. “I can feel something tugging my belly button, could you fix it?” she asked. I grinned and nodded, taking the now empty plate off of her belly, then going back to roll up her shirt. Her enormous bare pregnant belly sat in her lap, growing closer and closer to her knees, and bowing out on the sides to be wider than the rest of her. I could see some new stretchmarks forming, and the old ones looking brighter. She smiled at me. “I'm ready for another dish,” she said, “But I might need a belly rub to help get me through it,” she took my hands and placed them at the taught end of her belly, which was somehow more firm now than it had been before. She reached over and grabbed a rack of ribs I had made for her, peeling off one rib and setting the rest on the table for easy access. “You know how messy I can get with barbecue, if anything lands on my belly down there, it's yours,” she teased before tearing into the rib in her hand. Truth be told, while it did LOOK messy, she consumed every morsel. I kept rubbing her tummy, running my hands over the top and down the side. I pulled them down to the underside and gave her underbelly some attention. It was so taught, warm, and heavy, I can only imagine what it felt like to actually HAVE and be a part of. My wife is so amazing. This went on for a little while, she took her time getting every scrap of meat and BBQ sauce off of the bone. I was engrossed in caressing her belly, as she kept eating, I swear I could FEEL it expanding, the skin getting tighter and tighter under my hand. I noticed a couple of drops of something land on the front dome of her belly, and I looked up to see some dribbles of barbecue sauce had landed a few inches above her belly button. “Oops?” she grinned mischievously. “You better lick it off,” God she knew how to get to me. I followed orders, licking the few running drops of warm barbecue sauce off of her belly. She giggled, which caused her belly to jiggle slightly, before she went back to her meal. I kissed her belly where the spill had been, over and over pressing my lips into her drum tight tummy. I massaged the sides thoroughly, rubbing my hands back and forth and pressing slightly. For as full and tight as it was, her belly still had the slightest bit of give. “Hey, master chef,” she yanked me from my stupor with that lovely voice of hers. I glanced up to see no ribs in her hands, which had been licked clean of sauce. “I'm still hungry,” I stood up, feeling the deep blush burning on my face. “What would you like next?” I asked. “Hmm...” she playfully surveyed the table, which was still roughly two thirds covered in food. “I like the look of that ham...” she pointed at the full sized thanksgiving dinner-esque ham that sat at the end. “But, my pants are getting pretty tight. Mind helping me unbutton them?” she smiled at me. Could she even stand up at this point? The waistline of her pants was pretty low, and the button and zipper were buried under a mound of pregnant girth. I took her hands and helped her up, she was definitely heavier, which I didn't mind. Her maternity jeans honestly looked like skinny jeans at this point, the denim almost cutting into her skin. I undid the button and zipper, and my wife let out a long sigh. “Much better. In fact? Maybe just pull them off,” she wiggled a bit and let them fall to her ankles, showing off her long legs. Her thighs were delightfully plump, her panties hugged them gently, being much more forgiving than the denim pants. Cellulite ran down their backs, which didn't bother me in the slightest. Her legs were long and soft, though had some muscle hidden beneath the fat. She stepped out of the jeans, which now lay in a pile on her bare feet, and kicked them into the corner of the room, before sitting heavily back down into her chair. “Now, about that ham...” she need not say anymore. “How much do you want?” I asked. She eyed the warm, juicy ham with a sly smile. “I'll take... all of it,” This woman was ready to go big or go home. This was an entire thanksgiving ham she was gunning for. “Are you sure!?” she nodded, patting her now even more distended belly. “Still got some space,” I spent a few minutes getting every bit of ham I could, and piling it onto one platter. This thing was piled high, and could probably sustain a normal person for almost a week. I set it on the table next to her, and grabber her a fork. “You know what would go good with this?” she asked. I shrugged and smiled quizzically. “Some mac and cheese!” I hadn't made any, but we did have some. “You start on this, I'll go make you some!” I ran off to the kitchen, got some water boiling, and made up a double batch. Boiling the water, cooking the pasta, and mixing in the butter, milk, and cheese power took about 20 minutes. When I came back, the ham was about 30% down. “Getting full?” I asked. “You should have that plate licked clean with the pace you've been at,” she shook her head and smiled softly. “I just took my time, didn't want you missing the show,” she smirked. “Now gimmie!” she reached for the pot of still hot mac and cheese. I handed it to her and to my surprise, rather than use any proper silverware, she started eating it with the wooden spoon I had used to stir, and had left in by accident. “Mmm, I like this, really good. But...” she smiled at me. “My poor belly is feeling really big and stretched out. I'm still plenty hungry, but my skin is getting so tight, just look at it!” she gestured to the end and sides of her belly. The whole thing, lower hemisphere especially, was covered in stretchmarks, about half of which weren't there this morning. “My tummy could use some encouragement as I keep filling it up,” she pouted. “How about you kiss every last one of my stretchmarks, so that they know you love them, and so my belly knows it's okay to keep getting bigger and fatter,” without a word, I sunk to me knees, my face level with the end of my wife's truly enormous belly. I shifted over to the left side and pressed my lips to the first stretchmark I saw, right near her love handles. She cooed, and went back to eating, alternating between slice of ham and spoonful of mac and cheese. She shoved down mouthful after mouthful, never slowing, nor showing signs of fatigue. Her belly continued to grow and expand. The end had actually reached her knees, and was starting to push farther out. The sides had pressed out father, making it completely obvious how pregnant she was, even from the back. I was just getting across to the right hemisphere of her belly when she stopped me. “Ah, ah, my belly button deserves some attention too. After all, the poor thing used to be an innie, now look at it,” Again, without question, I started kissing and worshiping her belly button, which stuck out a good half inch, totally popped. “Make sure to get all of my linea nigra line too. That one is queen of the stretchmarks,” she stated matter of factly with a mouthful of ham and cheese. With my hands softly holding and squeezing the sides of her growing pregnant tummy, I lay several tender kisses up and down the center axis of her globe of pregnancy. I went up, to where her shirt rested, bunched up under to breasts, and down, to as low onto her underbelly as I could get. “Very good, now you can continue,” she smiled. The ham was almost gone from what I could tell, and I imagine the mac and cheese couldn't be far behind. She had eaten so, so much food, and had nearly doubled in size, and let still kept going. I continued around her belly, caressing and pampering each individual mark as if they were their own portion of her beauty, which as far as I was concerned, they were. Eventually I had reached her right side, stopping right about where her love handles flowed out over the waistline of her panties. “Good ham!” she said, letting out an impressive belch. “I feel like starting on dessert, what do you have that's sweet?” she asked. I had the foresight to prepare a myriad of rich, sweet, chocolate dessert items that I knew she'd like. A triple layer chocolate cake, a huge bowl of heavy chocolate pudding, and while it wasn't Christmas, a yule log made extra heavy with a thick coating of dark chocolate glaze. She eyed the yule log first. “Pass the log and hand me a fork!” she grinned, rubbing the top of her enormous belly with both hands. I handed her the platter with the heavy yule log sitting atop it, and she balanced it on her belly, which had only widened since her feast began. She took her fork and tore huge chunks out of the confection, stuffing down every bite. I just watched in awe as every last bit of that super heavy, fattening dessert disappeared into her growing belly. She set the now empty platter back on the table and leaned back in her chair, her tummy now starting to grow a bit on the top too. “What should I eat next?” she asked me innocently. “Uh... up for some pudding?” I offered. She smiled a sly, mischievous smile. “I'm up for everything on this table,” she replied. I beamed, handing her the huge bowl containing a triple batch of chocolate pudding. “That yule log was impressively rich, I could use more belly rubs to help it all digest as I dig into this pudding,” she said, half teasing me, half ordering me. I began running my hands over her taught skin again, eliciting a mix of content, happy sounds from my wife. Her midriff had simply exploded from how it had started earlier. It was now overhanging her knees by several inches, the sides sticking out a great deal from the rest of her frame, and the whole thing becoming almost shiny as she continued to push her poor belly skin past its limits. A glob of pudding landed on the top of her belly, having 'dripped' from her loaded spoon. “Oops, sorry sweetie. You know how clumsy I can get when I'm THIS pregnant,” she grinned. “You should probably lick that off too. You're putting in a lot of work pampering me, and I want to make sure you're well fed,” she smirked at the irony. “Well, maybe not as well fed as ME!” she slapped her belly with the spoon, leaving more pudding for me to 'clean up'. “...but you get the idea,” I wrapped my arms as far around her belly as I could. My hands were both barely reaching the small of her back, but the tips of my fingers couldn't meet. She was so big around I couldn't hold all of her. I lapped up the pudding stains from the top of her belly, punctuating each cleaned spot with a soft kiss. I could still feel some movement from her triplets inside of her, which I imagine were feeling almost cramped in there with all of that food. My wife simply kept downing mouthful after mouthful of pudding, stopping to lick her lips every so often. “Mmmm. I feel so big and fat and pregnant. I must look gargantuan by now!” she teased, setting the cleaned bowl off to the side. “and yet, with this huge belly taking up all of this space, I'm still hungry, and I think I know what I want next...” she looked over at a deep pan of lasagna that had gone untouched this whole time. “I've had enough sweet stuff for now, pass me that lasagna!” I walked around the table to grab it from the end. Even though it felt like we had been at this for a while now, it still felt pretty warm. “You want any?” she offered. I shook my head with a smile. She grinned back at me, “Well good, cause these babies have driven my appetite into overdrive, and I don't want to share any of this!” she grabbed a large spoon and started inhaling the Italian dinner, again using her belly as a table. Her tummy just kept expanding further and further, her belly button somehow looking more popped than before. Her belly had a pattern of bright red stretchmarks, spanning the entire thing. The skin around her belly button had begun to take on a slightly darker hue, has her linea nigra line grew wider and darker. Without asking, I rubbed the ends of my fingers along the sides of her belly. She glanced down at me. “Did I give you permission to touch?” she scolded. I withdrew my hands and she laughed. “Not that I mind, of course. But you really should ask before rubbing a pregnant woman's belly. Besides, I have something you could be doing while you're massaging me down there...” she trailed off, setting the now empty lasagna pan off to the side. She looked at me with a mock pout on her face. “I'm feeling too big and heavy to get up. I'm just far too pregnant to move on my own. This big belly gets in the way!” I stood up, took her by the hands, and hefted her onto her bare feet. She really was very, very heavy. So much so that she had to hold and support her tummy with both hands. She very, very slowly waddled over to the recliner, and sat down, sinking into the cushion. She put up the foot rest, and leaned back at about 45 degrees. “Here's what I want you to do,” she began. “Go grab those two large pizzas you made, bring them here, and massage my underbelly while I eat. I'm too big and fat to reach down there anymore,” she instructed. I grabbed the food she requested, setting it within arms reach, then crouched down by her side and started running my hands along her firm, warm underbelly. It had only the slightest bit of give, and was laden with stretchmarks, as it had to bear the weight of so much food and pregnancy. She let out more small noises of approval as I worked my way across the hidden expanse of pregnant tummy. “My belly is complaining again, better go for another round of stretchmark kisses,” she ordered. “Make sure to get all of the ones down there too. Just cause I'm too big to see them doesn't mean I don't know they're there. You know what I expect,” I could hear the smile in her voice, though I couldn't see it passed her massive belly. I started dead center on the bottom of her belly, lovingly peppering it with light kisses on every red mark I saw. She leaned back farther to make it easier on me, but kept chowing down on that pizza. I had my hands running along the drum tight sides of her tummy as I kept kissing it, over and over. I ran my tongue from the base of her belly all the way up to her belly button, slowly moving up her linea nigra line. “Mmmm... very good. I like that!” she praised, her voice sultry, even when muffled with food. I planted a deep kiss onto the end of her belly, giving her belly button a good 40 seconds of attention, before splitting off to hit more of her stretchmarks. I was in such heaven. My wife proceeded to let out an impressively loud belch, then laughed a deep belly laugh, causing her pregnant dome to undulate up and down. “Mmmmmm, pizza's gone. What all is left?” she asked. I glanced over, and took inventory. “Looks like... a huge platter of nachos, two stacks of buttermilk pancakes, a dozen each, and that triple layer chocolate cake!” I said, glancing to her. “Which would you like?” I asked. She grinned at me, smiling that same smile she used when she was about to say something that would make me go crazy. “You know... I can't tell... why don't you listen to my belly, and tell me what you think it wants?” I felt my cheeks burn with a deep blush, I smiled and nodded, shifting over and putting my ear onto my wife's enormous middle. I could hear the distinct sound of three heartbeats, and the churning and sloshing of an overstuffed, overworked stomach. I listened for a while, partly to enjoy the sounds, mostly to keep my face right on the side of her bare belly. “Hmmm...” I teased, pretending to put thought into the decision when I knew right away what I wanted her to eat next. “I think it's telling me its wants the nachos,” I smile, patting it softly. She nodded and I got up to go get them for her. I brought them back, and she had sat up in the recliner. I handed her the large platter, which she set on her belly, and she starting mowing through the chips, meat, salsa, and peppers that made up the treat. She had about a quarter down when she made a request. “All this salt is making me thirsty. You have something to drink?” I nodded and went to the fridge to see what we had. That was a lot of nachos, so she'd need a lot of liquid. I dug around in the fridge for a minute or two and found an unopened gallon container of lemonade. Citrus with wanna-be Mexican food? Good combo? Good enough? It was all we really had, so I grabbed a tall glass with it and brought it back with me. “Hey honey how much do you wa...” I trailed off. The nachos were completely gone, not a scrap left. She chewed and swallowed the last bite, and reached for the jug in my hand. “Mmm... whole thing. Don't bother pouring,” she demanded. I passed her the container and she tore off the lid and began chugging. My eyes were wide and my jaw was completely slack. She downed the whole thing, the WHOLE THING, without so much as stopping to breathe. She tossed the empty plastic gallon jug to the side and inhaled deeply. She smiled a sweet, innocent smile at me, and placed her hands on either side of her truly enormous pregnant belly. She jostled it, shaking it left to right slightly. “I can feel everything sloshing around in my belly. Come have a listen?” she offered. Not one to pass great opportunities, I knelt down next to her again and placed my ear a few inches above her distended belly button. Sure enough, the sound of lapping liquid echoed from inside of her. Her skin overstretched and containing an outrageous amount of food. “Pancakes next,” she said sternly, breaking me from my stupor once more. I excitedly made two trips to bring her 24 buttermilk pancakes, each roughly 8 inches in diameter, and a large container of syrup. I set them next to her and she looked up at me with that devilish grin again. “Do we have something that could cover up this recliner, and maybe the surrounding floor?” she asked. “...why?” I asked, genuinely confused. “I have an idea, but it's going to get messy, and I don't want this chair or the carpet ruined,” she explained. I set down the syrup to go find something. After some searching, I found a plastic cover for the chair, and a small tarp for the floor, both of which could easily be taken outside and hosed off after whatever she had planned. “Great, now help me up. Get the tarp under the recliner, and the cover on the chair itself,” she instructed. She had gotten even heavier, and seemed ready to explode from food and pregnancy. She cradled her massive belly while standing off to the side, while I shifted the furniture around. Once everything was in place, she lowered herself back into that recliner, and scooted the plates of pancakes closer to her. I really wasn't ready for what she did next, but it made sense why she wanted the surrounding area covered. She took of her shirt, now wearing only her bra and panties, grabbed six pancakes off of the top of one of the stacks, and set them directly on her belly. She did this with the rest, resulting in four evenly divided stacks. She grabbed the syrup, made eye contact with me, and proceeded to pour it all over the pancakes, and by extension, herself. With her food and belly thoroughly coated in sticky maple syrup. The snatched the fork and started eating right off of her belly. I honestly could only sit there and watch. She downed pancake after pancake, each stack disappearing into her massive belly. As the top shelf of her tummy cleared, the sides continued to grow and fill out further. Still more stretchmarks faded onto the sides. She finished the last pancake, licked her lips, and sat back, letting out a content sigh. “You know you're going to have to lick me clean after this, right?” she said, sultry, but completely serious. I didn't speak, simply nodding. “Good, now get me that cake. It's time to finish this,” I brought it over to her, the tall, rich confection enough to feed 15 people easily. “Y-you want me to-” “Right on the belly,” she pointed to the top of her pregnant dome. I set the cake down where she asked, and she looked up at me with pleading eyes. “I know it's all covered in syrup and chocolate, but my tummy needs some support to make it to the end of this marathon. Think you could bring yourself to worship it one last time?” she pouted. No one knew how to tease me like her. I got down on my knees, running my hands across the firm, sappy sides of her belly, licking the syrup off of her linea negra line where I could. My face was covered in syrup as I kissed each stretchmark one by one all across her belly. I massaged her underbelly where I could, which resulted in more syrup getting on her thighs, but neither of us cared. I kissed her belly button over and over, squeezing the sides of her packed belly. She still, even stuffed to the bursting point with food, had just a little give to her skin. Every so often a kick would make itself known against my hand, prompting me to give that stop extra attention. My wife gave her belly a hearty pat and belched. I looked up to see she had somehow stuffed herself with that entire cake. “Well that was a nice appetizer!” she joked, breathing somewhat heavily as she leaned back. I just kept rubbing her belly, pressing my face into the sticky, sugary end of it, completely in bliss. My wife had somehow seemingly tripled in size, and had eaten a good weeks worth of food in a single day. Her belly dominated her body, taking up her whole lap, stretching far passed her knees, and bowing out on the sides. It was heavily laden with bright red stretchmarks, with a dark, wide linea negra, and a tight, popped belly button. “Hey sweetie, I'm going to take a nap and digest all of this. Why don't you start cleaning me up?” she winked. “I'm full,”
If thick thighs save lives, then a pregnant bump must grant immortality!
